


Orange's Apartment

by casstayinmyass



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Dry Humping, First Meetings, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Larry's A Fool For Love, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 22:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: After meeting Joe, Eddie, and Mr. White at the bar, Freddy invites Larry over to his apartment. Just, you know, to hang out. Get to know each other a little better.





	Orange's Apartment

Freddy had been building up to this moment since the night he saw Larry at Boots and Socks in Gardena. That night, he had taken interest in the older man upon first glance-- but then, Freddy took interest in a lot of older men at first glance, didn't usually mean what it ended up meaning for Larry Dimmick.

Larry. Yeah, he looked like a Larry. Freddy often mulled over people's names, if he felt they fit them or not. He spent way too much fucking time trying to decide if Mr. Pink's real name was Elijah or Marty, and settled on Elijah. He accidentally called Pink that one day, prompting a, "What the fuck did you call me? My name's not fuckin--" And of course, the rest had been swept away with a disgruntled huff and eye roll from the skinny robber.

But Larry. Yeah, Larry suited Mr. White fine. It was handsome and mature, just like the man. Freddy wondered if his own name suited him.

The moment that he had been preparing for wasn't anything sappy like saying "I love you" or some shit. It was inviting Larry over to his apartment. He really shouldn't do that. He knew he shouldn't. He'd be in trouble with both his bosses-- Joe, and Holdaway. But even though he was a cop, Freddy walked the fine line of not giving a flying fuck about rules (which admittedly won him the interest of his new criminal posse), and he knew from the moment Larry grinned at him and called him "kid" that there was no way he could ignore this one.

He was lucky, but he was also a good judge of character. If he had invited someone like, say, Pink over to his place, he would have received a dirty look and a long ass lecture about anonymity amongst thieves. If he had invited Blonde, he would have recieved a prompt smack in the face. Freddy didn't know anyone who'd want to invite that psycho fuck over anyway, except for maybe Eddie, who was obviously doing Blonde some racy favours in his office when his daddy wasn't looking.   
  
But Larry was reasonable. He could tell that just from giving that little speech he gave about the weed draught and the way Larry was watching him the whole time, not really listening, just smoking his cigarette and watching. Freddy liked it. Larry liked Freddy. Freddy liked that Larry liked him.

Larry, on the other hand, had not been prepared. His whole life, liking both men and women, he had resigned himself to the fact that only a good half of his affections would ever be publicly returned. The case would be the same with the new blonde kid with the cute ass-- Larry'd get the butterflies, then he'd go home, jerk off, picture him and Freddy cuddling and sharing margaritas on the beach in Santa Monica, then the next day, kid'd be Mr. Orange again, business as usual.

But that... wasn't the case. Of course, Larry was probably getting ahead of himself here, as he usually had a habit of doing. Freddy probably just wanted to show Larry his movie collection or something, maybe ask him for some advice for his first bust. But still, he couldn't fight those butterflies returning to his stomach, and after all these years, he'd learned not to try.

\---

"This your place?" Larry looked up at the three floor walk up, noticing the graffiti on the bricks and the bars on the first floor windows.

"Yeah," Freddy answered, "It's shit on the outside, but I've worked with the place since I moved in."

"When did you move in?"

"Ten years ago."

"Ten y-- how fucking old are you, kid?!"

Freddy ducked his head, blushed a little. "I'm 28, Larry."  
  
"Oh. I thought you were gonna say 40 or some shit. I was gonna ask what your secret was."

They walked up the steps, and Freddy went through the motions of unlocking his door. He had a routine-- key in, jiggle left, jiggle up, push once, jiggle right, and open.

"Christ," Larry muttered in amusement, "This place must be old, you've gotta do a fuckin' song and dance every time you wanna get in."

"It's all I can afford," Freddy murmured, looking around and tossing his keys on the kitchen counter. Larry felt bad, so he put a hand on the kid's bony shoulder.

"Didn't mean anything by it. It's a nice place, I like what you've done with it. Not like my place is any better."

Freddy broke into a grin. "Nah, you're right. It's old as shit, and it's a real fuckin hassle when I come home baked out of my mind and can't get in my own damn door." The two men broke into giggles, and Freddy gestured with his chin to the couch.

"Lemme getcha a beer, sit down if you want."

"Thanks..." Larry looked around, caught the comics strewn about, the Silver Surfer poster on the wall, a half finished box of Fruit Loops left open on the table. He felt for a moment that he had been given a rare opportunity to see a little bit into this kid's life, like he had been granted a gift of sorts.

"Here," Freddy handed him a can, and Larry cracked it. "Sorry it's the cans and not the bottles. Like I said, I'm a, uh... a petty dealer, I don't make nearly enough off the shit I sell."

Larry hummed thoughtfully. "You should charge more, leave yourself a bigger profit margin."

Freddy barked out a high pitched chuckle. "You wanna get fed bullets by your rinky dink pothead neighbours for overcharging their 3 grams? Cause I like breathing, thanks." He was almost startled how fast that improvised answer came to him, but he had learned to roll with the punches, just as Holdaway had taught him. Freddy felt a little sick as he thought of his chief, like he was betraying Larry this very moment. But it wasn't like he was calling anyone in to nab the guy-- this was purely personal, off the job.

He snatched the box of fruit loops, and collapsed on the couch beside Larry, digging his hand in. He offered the other man some too, and Larry took a few.   
"Mind if I light up in here?" Larry asked, pulling out a pack from his jacket pocket. Freddy shrugged.

"I do it all the time."

Larry offered Freddy a cigarette too, but the kid just bit his lip. "I'll share yours."

Larry almost choked, but kept his cool as he nodded and tucked his pack away, lighting up his zippo with the swift flick of an experienced smoker. He took a few puffs, already feeling himself relax, then handed it to Freddy, who took it between slender fingers, dragging hard as if he, too, had been smoking forever.

"Go easy, kid," Larry chuckled, watching Freddy practically turn it to ash, "How long you been smoking darts for?"

"Longer than I've been smoking grass for," Freddy grinned, tipping his head back, and that adorable blush spread over his cheeks. "16. I started when I was 16. Just became habit I guess since then." Larry nodded, impressed.

"So. You got any of that, then?" Larry propositioned, giving him a mischievous smirk, "Grass? I mean, I don't want you getting shot for smoking your neighbour's hard earned grams, so it'd have to be any extra." God help Freddy, he winked.

"Yeah," Freddy nodded, scrambling up. Holdaway had secured him some possessed stash from the office just in case of legitimacy checks, so he'd have to come up with some excuse as to why he actually used it.

Freddy found the brick of weed that that rookie Nash had lifted off some lowlives the week before, undid the bag, and got to crushing the bud.

"What strain?"

Freddy froze. What did Holdaway say? There were two different kinds, right? Shit, why didn't he pay better attention? "Uh... the kind that knocks ya out," Freddy responded, and Larry just nodded. Thankfully Larry knew fuck all about weed and drugs, and the little he did know was from buying it years ago at one of Joe's parties, so he wasn't about to argue.

Freddy rolled it into a joint, and lit it, taking the first drag then handing it to Larry. He may be a cop, but he knew good weed when he smoked it, from back in high school.

"Shit," Larry exhaled, shifting on the couch, "That shit sticks in your head."

"Right?" Freddy breathed, falling back into the couch again. He really didn't feel like moving. Larry took another drag, coughed a few times, and handed it to Freddy. Freddy inhaled, then blew smoke rings, letting his slender wrist dangle over the arm of the chair.

"So..." he murmured, head rolling over to Larry. Larry looked down at him-- he seemed a little more relaxed now, at least.

"So what did you want me over for?" Larry asked, "...Question about the job?"

Freddy fiddled with a loose thread in the upholstery. "I don't know. I didn't really have a reason, man. I just... liked you. And wanted to get to know you better."

Larry sighed a little, rubbed over his face, and nodded. "I sure know what you like. Comics and fruit loops."

"Hey," Freddy complained, dragging on the joint, "You're making me sound like a fuckin teenager who just moved out of his parents' basement!"

"I'm only messing with you," Larry grinned, snatching the joint, and Freddy felt a pang in his chest. Larry must have noticed how Freddy was staring at him, because he shifted his body to turn more his way.

"What?" He waited, but Freddy just kept staring. "What is it, hm? Why're you staring at me like that?"

  
Freddy looked down again.

"Larry?"

"Yeah?"

Freddy chanced a glance up. "What would you do... if I did something I might regret?"

"What would I do?" Larry muttered. "Well... I'd probably feel fucking sorry for you."

Freddy looked up in surprise, and they both started to laugh, and continued the laughter, a mix of their high and actually finding that funny. "Okay," Larry got serious, "What are we talking here, huh? What are you gonna do that you think you're gonna regret?"

Freddy closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "Could I show you?"

Larry should have said no. He should have told the kid to get out while he still could, keep scraping by selling dope, don't get involved in this shitshow of organized crime, and especially don't hook up with an old man like him. But he wanted it too, and his throat was dry, and he was sweating ever so slightly, and Freddy just looked so young, so pretty, so fucking gorgeous. He nodded.

It only took Freddy a second, and he was straddling Larry's hips, holding him by the collar and kissing him. Larry's eyes closed, but he opened them as soon as they did, because he wanted to see just what this pretty kid looked like when he kissed. He wasn't disappointed. Freddy had his brow furrowed, his blonde hair falling into his eyes, which were squeezed shut. A slow sigh escaped Freddy's lips, and Larry's hands found the younger man's hips, holding him steady, making sure he wouldn't leave, wouldn't stop.

When the kid finally had to pull away for air, Larry looked at him, totally and completely obsessed.

Freddy looked down, giggling a little at the boner that now filled out his jeans. "God damn," he breathed softly, and rested his forehead against Larry's. He bounced and rolled his hips a little in invitation, and Larry took it as such, raising his eyebrows. Freddy nodded, excited, and Larry unzipped his baggy jeans, reaching into Freddy's Incredible Hulk boxers to take his hot erection in hand, starting to pump.

"Boy," Larry whispered in Freddy's ear, "You got there fast, hun." He swiped the precum that leaked from the younger man's tip over the rest of the cock, and started to pump him in earnest, watching how the beautiful boy fell apart on top of him. "Oh, you really are worked up, buddy boy."

"I... I..." Freddy gasped, "Shit Larry, I couldn't fuckin help it, man... I've been fucking thinkin' about this since I saw you in that bar..."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Freddy breathed, whining a little as Larry's thumb grazed his balls, "You looked so good... so fucking handsome. I wanted go get on my knees right then and there and suck your big cock..."

"Oh," Larry groaned, hands tightening on Freddy's hips and dick hardening in his pants.

"Please... please make me cum for you, Larry..."

"Shit," Larry groaned, working himself up against Freddy's perfect ass, "You are a little piece of work, you know that?"  
  
"I know... I know. I'm a... oh god... I'm a fucking slut, Larry, I'm a fucking slut."

"I know you are," Larry nodded, jerking Freddy off, "That much I can tell."

"Fuck," Freddy repeated, "I'm gonna... Larry, holy hell, I'm gonna fucking blow in your hand, man..."

"Come on, baby," Larry whispered, other hand finding the small of Freddy's back, "Cum for me. That's it, don't hold on. You can cum for me. Go ahead."

And he did. Freddy's mind fuzzed out even more than it had been for a good solid minute, before he came back from the pleasure high and finally realized what the fuck he was doing.

Climbing down off of Larry's lap, Freddy got on his knees and undid Larry's buckle, reaching in.

"Aw, you don't gotta..."

Ignoring him, Freddy took out the older man's throbbing cock. Wasting no time, he pumped it a few times, and took it all, deep throating it in a last ditch effort to make Larry cum fast.

"Oh, kid..." Larry muttered, fingers twisting in Freddy's mop of hair, "Kid, that's... that's fucking wonderful... jesus, where'd you learn to suck cock like that?"

And then Freddy did something that pushed Larry over the edge-- he moaned around his cock, as if this was the hottest thing in the world for him to be doing. Larry made a strangled noise, and came far less gracefully than Freddy did. Freddy swallowed some, but removed his lips as a few ropes hit his lips and dripped from his chin, green eyes blinking in lust.

Larry stared down at him, in awe. He thought it was impossible to be any more enamored with this new boy Joe had hired, but shit, there Freddy went, proving him wrong.

Freddy got up, stumbling a little in a mess of lazy, lanky limbs, and sat nervously beside Larry, wiping his lips.   
"Oh."

"Yeah," Larry ran his clean hand through his hair, "Oh."

"I... swear I didn't just invite you over here to fuck you," Freddy muttered, a blush heating up his cheeks.

Larry shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. I don't mind, either way."

Freddy blinked a little, and frowned. "So you don't... you're not, um... um. You wanna order pizza?"

Larry smiled. "I prefer tacos, but pizza sounds pretty damn good right now."

A half hour later, they lay in Freddy's bed, the Lost Boys playing on VHS behind them on the crappy little TV Freddy could afford on a beat cop turned undercover cop's budget. Larry had his head against Freddy's pillow, and Freddy had settled in next to him. The bed was more comfortable, he said. Larry had agreed. It wasn't like they were sleeping together.   
Well... it kind of was.

This isn't what robbers did. This isn't what professional criminals did, days after meeting one another. Larry mused on this, as Freddy worried about it. But they were unique. This situation just made sense-- they clicked. Joe couldn't ream them out for bonding.

Larry lit another cigarette, and this time, Freddy took his own, letting it dangle from those rosy lips as they put a dent in the cheese pizza they ordered. Freddy craved the grease, got it all over his grubby fingers. Larry told him to use a napkin, as if he had moved in already and somehow owned this bed too.

"Hey Larry?"

"Yeah."

Freddy lay down beside him, holding his stomach. Larry looked over, watched how the oversized shirt dipped into the younger man's curves, hanging off his frame like a sheet. Larry wanted to hold him. "...Are you scared?"

Larry tore his eyes off of Freddy's exposed thigh. "Freddy, I've been in the game long enough to know that nobody nowadays really goes out of their way to give a damn about two guys having at it with each other, as long as it doesn't affect them."

Freddy snorted. "I meant the job, asshat. I ain't scared of being gay."

Larry blushed a little, and playfully shoved the younger man over so he, too, could lay down more comfortably.   
"Nah, I'm not scared. You must be, though... first big job and all."

Freddy shook his head. "Nah. Nah, I'm not."

Larry sighed, looked at Freddy's far off gaze, and put a muscular arm behind him.   
The two stayed there like that, and waited for the sun to go down on the sketchy little apartment in downtown South Bay.

"You didn't tell him your name, did ya!?" Pink barked in Larry's face, and Larry had to resist the urge to rip this weasley piece of shit apart for it. He'd done a hell of a lot more than tell Freddy his name, but that didn't fucking matter. Freddy was dying, in that fucking ridiculous suit too big on the kid that looked like he was playing dress up, and god damn anyone who was going to stop Larry from fixing it. He had to protect him. Freddy trusted him. Larry wanted to visit Freddy's apartment with him again, eat fruit loops and pizza with him again, watch the kid lounge around in more oversized shirts, tease him about his comics collection... that couldn't have been the last time. It couldn't have.

As Mr. White kicked the shit out of Mr. Pink on the floor, his thoughts were with Freddy. As Freddy watched blearily, in and out of consciousness, he wondered when he could tell his Larry the truth.

As Larry held him, right up until the end-- as he slurred out his words, "Larry... I'm sorry... I'm a cop... I'm a cop, Larry..." Larry almost didn't sound like the right fitting name at all. Maybe he wasn't even talking to the man above him, holding him, holding the gun. Maybe he could just pretend they never left that couch, box of fruit loops still in their hands.


End file.
